


Tale of Truth

by Dustfinger12



Category: Dark Souls
Genre: not much else, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 19:03:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7982740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dustfinger12/pseuds/Dustfinger12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two friends are reunited after being separated for centuries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tale of Truth

     I guard these rocks, day in and day out. Waiting for my friend, knowing he will not show. For what has taken him is worse than being Hollowed; worse than not knowing who he is (for he knows who he was). What has taken him is abandonment. He who saved a friend was left to the Abyss by the one who he saved. And from the Abyss came not insanity, but corruption and with corruption came madness. I know he remembers me as I am the one he was protecting. With his shield he protected ME from the Abyss. The one who was not pure, for no man is pure, but good. Even as he protected me, did he get hit with the Abyss probably to never use that arm again. Now he is gone (I’m sure he is happy for the reprieve). I grieve for my fallen comrade for it was my fault, killed by one who was strong enough to take him. There was no mean spirit within this Chosen Undead. I had been injured, which was the cause of Artorias’ sacrifice. They had helped me and, in return, I gave them the Abyss Walker’s shield hoping it would help this Undead’s journey.  
     I, however, have his sword. I am responsible for his death. I am the protector of his secrets and grave I stand up on my paws holding my friend’s sword in my massive jaw. The Undead walks into my domain without a hint of fear, and my heart breaks more. This Chosen Undead who set me and the Abyss Walker free is here. Seeing this, I realize that I will now have to kill a second friend. I will be responsible for a second friend’s death. I can feel the warrior’s sorrow as they step closer. Reaching their hand out, I whimper and back away. I must do my duty, but I will bury and guard them as I have done with my first friend.  
Slowly, they raise their sword and shield of Artorias as I raise mine. I do not want to do this, but I must. The Undead races toward me. I am forced to dodge. I must hold nothing back as that would be insulting. With a swing of my head, I cut through the shield to its owner beneath. Pushing forward, I rush for another attack, but they manage to roll away. Lunging, they cut at my front leg. Pain rips through my body as it connects. A side swing follows cutting the sword deeper into my muscle and bone. Growling, I bring my sword down, and again they dodge leaving the sword buried in my leg. It hurt to move, but now they were defenseless. Lashing my head back, I leap forward with a slight limp, getting closer. They roll, and I swing my sword the other way grazing them. Their arm goes limp.  
     I whimper a little, it is the same arm as Artorias. I am close to killing them, and a thought races through my mine. Do I want to kill them? I don’t want to bury two friends. Can’t I just let them win? Everything will be easier that way, and maybe they can make a difference. No, that is my desperation. It doesn’t matter how hard one tries, they will not make a difference. That is the truth. Artorias knew that better than anyone. He had gone to the city Oolacile hoping his help would matter, but he died and no one remembers him. The only things he left were a sword, shield, ring, and a bitter, lonely friend.  
     But no, he also left a name. I was nothing when we met, and now I am the Great Grey Wolf Sif. Anger and resentment fuel me. Bitterness drives me. I grew in size and strength so that I may kill all that threaten Artorias’ resting place. But did he want to save me so I could become this bitter husk that was once his friend? I don’t think so.  
Looking down, I see the Undead coming toward me. Their arm dangling, blood flowing freely from the cuts, small and large. I quickly look at the sword then the Undead. There are no doubts as I dislodge the sword. It lands with a soft thump, lying on the grass. Waiting patiently, I watch them pick it up and stand ready. The wind blows softly as we lunge. The clash fills the air as our metal meets. Quickly, we pull away readying our next attack. Blood rushes to meet the ground in silent harmony. There is no fury as I watch it fall. A new gash appears on my muzzle. No one has given me such a challenge, and, in the back of my mind, I know this will be my last challenger. And when I die, I will take Artorias’ secrets with me leaving only a ring in my place.  
     Pain blazes though my body. Glancing down, I see the Undead has stabbed me as I was deep in thought. I feel my legs giving out, and I fall, landing with a thunderous crash shaking the ground. They have done what no other has managed. I will see Artorias again. There will be no Abyss or corruption, only the brave man who gave his life for me. I close my eyes, ready for the darkness.  
     A gentle hand touches my muzzle, and strokes my fur in slow even circles. Weakly, I open my eyes to see Artorias. He is standing there, comforting me. Deep down, I know this isn’t true, and it is only the Undead. They are comforting me as I die and I welcome this. My last wish is to be buried with my friend, but I know this will not happen. The hand withdraws and for a second I think they will leave. But now I feel cold steel against my ragged fur as Artorias’ shield is set down. So I hadn’t broken it. Next, I hear the scrapping of metal against Earth. I am too weak to keep my eyes, but I know they are setting the sword in its rightful place. Finally, I feel the gentle touch of the Undead, and I lick it. Now I have no strength to put it back. I will die with my tongue sticking out. The crows will eat that first then my eyes. They are the juiciest parts. Slowly, I sense myself cascading into the darkness of death. Through it, a familiar presence penetrates the gloom and I run. One last time I glance back. The Undead is dragging my body to Artorias’ grave. They start to bury me. “Let us leave, Sif,” a calming voice whispers. It is his voice, and I run again. I want to be reunited, but somehow, I know this will not be the last I see of my other friend. Maybe, in another life, we can fight side by side, not against each other. And now, I am free

**Author's Note:**

> Been working on this one for a while. I feel that Artorias and Sif are characters that don't feel a lot of love. Maybe that's just me, but I figured this story would give them a little love. Dark Souls gives me a lot of inspiration as the lore is thick and open to other's ideas. As always enjoy and leave a comment on what you think.


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